


In Over Your Head

by Slashify



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha Greg Lestrade, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, F/M, Female reader with a vagina, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Omega Reader, Rape tag is for mentioned past rape of a minor character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2018-06-05 05:26:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6691432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slashify/pseuds/Slashify
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're an omega novelist doing research at New Scotland Yard for your next book. You're surrounded by Alphas, but you always take your suppressants, so you're not worried. Enter Greg Lestrade...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"And that's about it," DS Donovan says, waving her hand around the office, "the rest is pretty much just cubicles and the like. Greg, that's DI Lestrade, cleared an office for you to use for your interviews. It's right over-"

"Sally! Have you seen the Thomas file?"

An office door had opened, bringing with it the most delicious scent you'd ever encountered. You recognize DI Lestrade from the papers and a few television interviews. He lifts his coffee cup in your direction.

"Oh hello! Are you our novelist?" He grins at you and you feel your knees start to go weak. Oh no.

Donovan's head snaps in your direction. She inhales hard and grabs your arm. Lestrade scowls and starts toward you. Donovan marches you past him and into his office. He follows you in and slams the door, then looks surprised at the noise. You've already felt the rush of need to please the Alphas, going easily when Donovan lowers you into a hideous orange vinyl chair. She backs off and Lestrade crowds you, going to his knees and lightly stroking your arm where the other Alpha had manhandled you.

"Are you okay? She didn't hurt you?" You stare into his brown eyes, feeling hypnotized, heat hitting you hard. You think you manage to shake your head a little.

"Of course I didn't!" Donovan sounds offended, then angry as she turns on you. "You! What were you thinking, going out without suppressants? You're writing a damn novel about coppers, surely you must know most of us are Alphas!"

Lestrade gets to his feet and there's a low rumble in his chest. He looks ready to pounce on Donovan. She doesn't back down and his lip starts to curl, baring his teeth. You want to stop this.

"I didn't." You manage to get out, and then Lestrade is at your side again. His eyes and mouth are soft and kind as he kneels by you, his back never quite turned to Donovan. Instinct telling him to make himself non-threatening to you, but still give a nonverbal warning to Donovan to stay well back.

"What's that, love?" His hand slides over the sensitive skin of your wrist and you fight the rush of hormones long enough to tell him that you ARE on suppressants. 

You think you must have gotten a bad batch because as soon as you caught his scent the heat started, and the other option is impossible. It's a fairy tale. It's just something parents tell their unmated kids, something out of a bad romance film. Suppressants don't work against YOUR Alpha. It's where the love at first sight thing comes from, the myth that the Alpha you're meant to be with will send you into heat, suppressants be damned.

You try to ignore the fact that his is the only scent you've caught since your heat kicked in, faster than ever before, even though Donovan is right there.

Your admission sets off a chain reaction. His scent gets even stronger, your slick soaks through your jeans, you watch his nostrils flare, his pupils dilate. Next thing you know his hands are cradling your thighs, lifting you against him. He sweeps an arm over his desk, scattering everything to the floor. You hear something break. It sounds like glass.

He lays you down on the desk, still grasping your thighs around his hips. He rubs his cheek into your throat, stubble burning you as he scents you. You lean your head back with a moan.

Donovan is shouting now, pacing and growling. You and Lestrade ignore her.

He's rutting against the seam of your jeans, the rumbling in his chest closer to a purr than a growl. He pulls back a bit and you keen, reaching up to tug at his shirt buttons. You can't get your hands to cooperate well enough to unbutton his light blue shirt, so you fist the fabric in your hands and pull, ripping it open. A button flies off and hits you in the chin but you ignore it, pulling the ruined shirt until it comes untucked from his trousers. He's still not close enough. You reach down and around him, grabbing at his ass and trying to encourage him to rub his hard cock on you again. 

He groans but resists, and you whimper in frustration until you realize what he's doing. You hear his zipper lower, feel his open belt against you. His hands come to fumble with the button of your jeans. You slide your fingers up his stomach, scratching through his silver chest hair. You settle your hands on his shoulders and pull him down for a kiss. 

His hands slam onto the desk next to you, your lips inches apart.

He huffs out a breath and shakes his head. You whine impatiently. If he would just kiss you...

He reaches into the desk drawer and comes up with a face mask. He cracks a plastic tube in the mask before he fastens it around his head and zips his trousers. You don't understand. You don't understand! His lips should be on yours, not covered by that stupid mask! 

He reaches down and cups your face in his hand. You nuzzle against him.

"Not like this," he says, muffled by the mask, "Love, not like this."

He tosses a second mask to Donovan. You scowl at her, sure she must be the reason your Alpha won't just take you. She cracks the tube in her mask and puts it on. She takes a few deep breaths and stops pacing.

"What do we do, Boss?" She's staring at you like you're a huge inconvenience. Greg opens a wardrobe you hadn't even noticed and changes into a fresh shirt. He's done up his belt and adjusted himself in his trousers, but you can see he's still hard for you. You groan at the thought, and start scrabbling at your jeans. Maybe if you undress, if you can present for him, maybe...

He gathers his ruined shirt, the rest of the spare clothes in the wardrobe, and an orange blanket. He crafts a makeshift nest in a corner of the office. You nuzzle behind his ear when he picks you up, bridal style this time, and he sets you down in the pile of his clothes. Lestrade wraps you up in the blanket and his arms. You worry he'll pull away again, but he stays, holding you and letting you snuggle against him. The blanket doesn't quite smell of him, but it's not bad. It smells oddly of family. You both sigh. His next words make Donovan scoff and roll her eyes.

"Get John Watson here. Tell him we've got an omega in heat whose suppressants have failed. He should know what to bring."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being a bit of a tease, but I thought even as an Alpha Greg wouldn't take advantage of an omega in heat without discussion beforehand.
> 
> The face masks have tubes filled with pheromone inhibitors, so when an Alpha cracks the tube and wears the mask they become immune to omegas in heat.
> 
> The orange blanket is Sherlock's shock blanket, which Greg rescued from the police car after ASiP. You can smell Sherlock, but not Donovan for reasons. Greg also thinks it smells like family because he sees Sherlock as an annoying but loveable younger brother.


	2. Chapter 2

You come back to yourself with an unpleasant scent filling your nostrils, a warm body at your back and Sherlock Holmes staring at you. He's sitting cross-legged on the floor directly in front of you, his fingers tapping his knee. He must see your eyes clear and focus on him.

"When was your last heat?"

"Sherlock!" 

You glance over, recognizing John Watson from news coverage. One of the only omegas to complete medical school and serve in the military, he's one of your heroes. You tell him it's fine and answer Sherlock, but aim the answer partly at John as well. He is the doctor here, after all.

Your answer sounds funny in your ears. You realize the foul smell is coming from the inhibitor mask you're wearing. Dr. Watson must have brought an omega one for you, and he's pumped you full of drugs as well. You're still coming down from your heat. You feel groggy and there's an empty, gnawing feeling in your stomach. Unfulfilled heat can do that. It's like riding a roller coaster to the top of a crest and not getting the rush of the drop. 

You try to focus on Dr. Watson's medical questions. He moves forward and takes your pulse, explaining the effects of the medications he's injected you with. The Alphas have discarded their masks, the drugs and your own mask working to stop your heat and sour your scent. Sherlock is asking you increasingly personal questions about your suppressants and your heats. Donovan is sweeping what looks like a shattered snow globe into a wastebasket next to Lestrade's desk. She's alternating between glaring at Sherlock and casting sympathetic half smiles your way.

Greg Lestrade's cock is still hard against you. He's behind you, his legs bracketing yours. He's holding you gently against his chest. You can feel his heartbeat against your back and his cock, hard against your tailbone.

You're understandably a little overwhelmed. Your hand comes up to cover one of Lestrade's, tangling your fingers with his. You choke out a laugh at the thought of still calling him Lestrade in your head after what just happened. He squeezes your hand.

"It's alright, darling, you're alright." He murmurs in your ear.

You take a deep breath to try and calm yourself, and the inhibitor nearly makes you gag. Sherlock has his phone out. He's rattling off rapid-fire information about suppressant recalls. Your brand isn't on the list.

"Four different major suppressant brands and yours is the only one without a recall in the last five years. Dependability or luck? No news of other failures so far, but then yours hasn't been reported either. So! Are you suffering a suppressant failure, the others yet to be reported, or is this something... Else?"

Sherlock's eyes flick between yours and Lestrade's. Greg, you remind yourself, not Lestrade. Greg's hand tightens on yours. You know he could crush your hand if he tried, but you also know he never would. It's so odd, this confidence in someone you don't even really know. Hormones, your brain supplies. Nature trying to ensure a bond between Alpha and omega. But a part of you wonders if this is something different. 

Even before you'd seen him in person something about his manner, his eyes, his voice, had called to you. You weren't responding to his scent back then. Pheromones don't come through the television or the newspaper. You'd just thought it was a crush, an attraction to a good-looking man. A fascination which inspired your novel, your main character a passionate Alpha who cared so much about finding justice for murder victims that his personal life suffered for it.

Your heat is receding quickly. You ask Dr. Watson if you can take the mask off, but he tells you you'd better keep it on until they figure out what's happening to you. Your head is losing that cottony, slow feeling. What almost happened hits you full force. 

You haven't been in public without suppressants in years. It was a few years after you presented omega, at school, that you'd been in a situation anything like this. You'd planned to take the few days off for your heat, but it had hit you early. Eight recently-presented Alphas and one Maths teacher had surrounded you, alternately cuddling, cooing, fighting each other, and trying to get your clothes off. You'd been needy, but none of them smelled quite right. You were lucky. Your omega Chemistry teacher managed to break it up with a bit of help. You were sent home mostly unmolested. The embarrassed Maths teacher had given you a higher grade than you earned and you'd had to work twice as hard to catch up the next year.

If Greg hadn't stopped he could have effectively raped you. The laws are hazy. Some say omegas can't consent in heat. Some say Alphas can't resist or be held accountable for whatever they do to an omega in heat. Your biology had made you want it, made you beg, but now that your head is clear you know you wouldn't have wanted it like that. Greg knew that, somehow. Somehow he fought off his rut and got the mask. And the unclear consent would have been bad enough, but if he had bitten you...

You were attracted to Greg, but you didn't know him. Omegas didn't always lose their heads to heat as much as society wanted others to believe. It depended on pheromone compatibility with whatever Alpha was around. Same with Alphas. You'd never been as far gone as you were with Greg. True, this heat was different than any you'd had. You thank whoever might be listening that Donovan hadn't tried anything. You don't know if she wasn't compatible, or if she didn't want to fight Greg. Thinking back, she'd seemed to want to protect you, not fuck you. For all her growling and posturing she'd never directly challenged Greg. Probably not compatible then. 

You look at her where she's absently scratching at what you're now sure is snow globe glitter in the short office carpet.

"Sergeant Donovan? Thank you." 

"Call me Sally," she smiles, moving toward you before thinking better of it and taking a cloth to the carpet, "no problem." 

You wiggle around until you can see Greg. His eyes stun you silent for a moment. You huff and shake your head, breathing in the nasty scent of the inhibitor again. You manage not to gag at it, looking into his gorgeous brown eyes.

"You stopped. Why, how did you stop?"

"Yes," Sherlock says, eyes locked on Greg, "How? From what you and Sally have described it seems improbable that you would stop. Most Alphas couldn't hold back, myself excluded of course."

Dr. Watson rolls his eyes. Afterwards, his face takes on a naughty grin. That's that rumor confirmed. You focus in on Greg again. You've never met him before but you swear he's lying when he says he doesn't know why he stopped.

"More importantly," Dr. Watson says, "what do we do now? There's protocol in place for when suppressants fail, but if that's not what this is-"

"Mycroft." Sherlock scowls. 

"No," Greg says, "This isn't life or death. This is personal, yeah?"

"Greg," Dr. Watson says, "this is serious. If she's unique, Mycroft might be the only one to save her from a lab-"

"No," Greg says, his arms tightening around you, "She's not going to a bloody lab!"

You can see his eyes, and they seem frantic. You reach a hand up to cup his face. His stubble rasps against your fingertips. You feel his body relax a little against you. His cock has gone down a bit. He's only half-hard against you now.

"Look," you say softly, "my suppressants probably just failed. Sherlock said its been five years without a failure, maybe it's just an accident. But. But if it's not... You know how the government is about omegas. We're experiments when we do something we aren't supposed to. Our Alphas are, too. If this, this Mycroft can help keep us out of a government lab..."

Greg's fingers smooth down your ribs. His brow is furrowed. He inhales what you're sure is your soured scent, but he doesn't seem bothered. He nuzzles his jaw against your temple.

"Fine," he says gruffly, "Call him. Call Mycroft."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still have little idea what I'm even doing. This was honestly a just fantasy I put in writing. I'm glad some of you seem to like it!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gender and sexuality are complex spectrums. For this story, whoever gave birth to a child is usually referred to as the mother. This is usually an omega, but there are trans Alphas who have given birth. Male, female, gender fluid, and non-binary are considered secondary genders in this world. So where two men or women together is considered a same gender relationship, so is an AlphaxAlpha couple or an omegaxomega couple. In the social structure, an Alphaxomega couple is more socially accepted. This is not the case for betas, who tend to do whatever they want with other betas.

You, Greg, Sherlock, and Dr. Watson are in a black car. Greg has an arm around you. His erection is gone at this point, but you can't help glancing at where you know his soft cock is dressed right in his trousers. 

There's a beta in the car with you. Dr. Watson had introduced her as Anthea. She's tapping away on a Blackberry. She keeps looking at you, then back to her phone. She smirks. Greg seems to ruffle at that, pulling you closer, putting a hand on your knee.

Sherlock is restless. He's alternating tapping his fingers on his own knees and Dr. Watson's. You've read Dr. Watson's blog. Sherlock isn't antsy because he's bored. You've delivered him a really good mystery. Why did your suppressants fail, seemingly only for Greg? So why can't Sherlock seem to sit still? Is he worried?

Greg takes a small bottle of water from a hidden cooler and holds it out to you. He knew you were thirsty, even though you only noticed it when you saw the bottle. Your stomach still clenches with the unfulfilled heat, but the drugs have worked to stop any affect it might have on Alphas. Dr. Watson has asked you to keep the mask on. Greg might not be growling at everyone, holding you in his lap, or insisting on tipping the water into your mouth for you, but he's still responding to you oddly. Dr. Watson thought the extra help of the mask souring your scent might have something to do with Greg not going total Alpha. You only slide it up as much as you need to in order to sip the water. When you right your mask and cap the water, Greg takes the bottle from you with a smile. You can't help leaning into him. He lets loose a small pleased rumble and drinks from the bottle he just took from you.

"So," you say, "who is Mycroft, and how can he help us?"

"He is the most powerful and dangerous man you're likely to ever meet."

The others all scoff or roll their eyes at Sherlock's dramatic announcement. Greg gives your shoulder a reassuring little rub.

"He's Sherlock's big brother. He also might actually be Big Brother." You can hear the capital letters. Greg doesn't seem concerned, but you're busy picturing a big scary Alpha.

"If he's with the government-"

"He IS the government." Sherlock interrupts.

"Okay. Well then why would he help me? The government isn't exactly at the forefront of the Omega Rights Movement." Anthea and Sherlock share a look before she refocuses on her phone.

"He'll help." Sherlock says with a smirk.

...

You all get out of the car in front of a very nice house in an upscale neighborhood. Greg takes your hand, but then looks down at it and lets go. He seems nervous now.

"Um, I didn't mean to, I mean, can I-" He takes a deep breath. "Is this okay?"

You try to hold back a grin. He's the most adorable Alpha you've ever seen. He lets out a sigh of relief when you tell him it's fine and reach out to retake his hand.

Inside the house you're met with expensive, solid furnishings. What you're sure is an antique side table holds a pricey-looking vase of cream-colored flowers. The deep blue accent wall behind the table complements the cream walls of the rest of the rooms you can see. The place is almost too neat, and you can't see anything you would call personal. There are a few paintings, but no photos. 

Anthea leads you to an office. Behind a huge, dark, wooden desk is the man you assume is Mycroft. Even seated he's intimidating, but not as scary as you had imagined. He invites you to sit. Sherlock flops into one of the chairs opposite the desk, Dr. Watson settling into the other one. Greg leads you by the hand to the love seat off to one side. You lean into his side again and he puts his arm back around you.

"Now then," Mycroft says, nodding at Anthea as she turns to leave the room, "Anthea has filled me in on the situation, and I've reviewed the security footage. You're worried this is not a routine suppressant failure. I would like to have a bit more information before I give my opinion. I'm sure you'll be much more comfortable without that mask."

Anthea comes back with a small package. Greg puts his hand over his eyes and mutters "security footage" while shaking his head. The beta pulls what looks like a nicotine patch out of the package and moves to roll up your sleeve.

"Hang on," Dr. Watson says, coming to stand next to you, "what is that? I've given her some meds, there could be interactions or-"

"Inhibitor patch, Dr. Watson. There have been no recorded interactions with anything you've given her. They've been used by those with access for a few years. I expect they'll be made available to the general public should the Omega Reproductive Rights Act pass."

Dr. Watson nods his approval after scanning the box, but he takes the patch from Anthea and puts it on your arm himself.

"You can take off that mask, but I want you to tell me the second you feel anything out of the ordinary." You smile at his commanding tone. He takes the mask from you and seals it in a medical waste bag before reclaiming his seat. He fixes Mycroft with an unimpressed look. Dr. John Watson, omega army doctor, is anything but a shrinking violet.

 

As an omega, you've never bought into the idea of all omegas being helpless, delicate baby-factories who need protection. Sure, sometimes it feels good when an Alpha gets protective, but the idea you can't do certain things for yourself gets annoying when it's constantly shoved in your face. Society is making strides when it comes to omega rights, but some things are slow going. 

Mycroft raises an eyebrow at Dr. Watson before he refocuses on you.

"Sherlock has filled me in on the health information he gathered from you earlier, but just to verify, you typically have a scheduled heat every six months, and you regularly take OmegaSafe suppressants between them, yes? Are you good about taking them on time each day?"

You pull your phone out of your pocket and pull up your tracker app. You show him the checked boxes which prove you've taken your meds on time every day for the past four months.

"Very good. When you felt this heat come on, your senses were attuned to Inspector Lestrade. From what I could see on the footage it didn't seem as though you reacted to Sergeant Donovan. Would you agree with that assessment?"

You do agree. You tell him the only other Alpha you could scent was Sherlock, at which point Greg shifts his arm around you to pull you closer. He clenches his jaw and looks at Sherlock as if he's sizing him up. You lean your weight into Greg and put your hand on his knee.

"It wasn't like that, though. Not sexual. He smelled more like a family Alpha. Like my cousin or something."

Mycroft considers that for a moment. "And can you scent him now?"

You can't. You can smell them all, of course. The inhibitor doesn't block out everything. You can tell Alpha from omega, and Anthea smells distinctly beta. Inhibitors don't block the scent entirely, but they mute them, change them, make the feelings associated with the scents less than normal. The emergency suppressant meds Dr. Watson gave you help to do the same. An omega in heat might catch an Alpha scent that triggers them to mate, but an omega on emergency meds could feel anything for that same Alpha ranging from fond affection to apathy to revulsion. 

Mycroft is clearly on some high-quality scent maskers. Scent maskers are typically used by Alpha teachers and health care workers to put students and patients at ease, but sometimes they're used by government workers as well. They make the user emit a neutral scent, which can be unsettling in itself when you're used to smelling Alphas, betas, and omegas. 

You can just barely catch scent of Greg, but you can't scent anyone else in the room and you tell Mycroft that.

"Hmm. Inspector Lestrade, you stopped yourself from taking advantage. Many Alphas have claimed that's impossible. What stopped you?"

Greg shifts away from you a little at that, and rests his arm on the back of the love seat instead of your shoulder. 

"It just didn't feel right. I mean, it felt- She wasn't in a position to consent, was she?"

Mycroft pulls a file in front of him and scans the contents. "And do you think your unwillingness to mate with her had anything to do with the circumstances of your birth?"

"Those files were sealed!" Greg snarls. Mycroft gives him a small condescending smile. Greg sighs.

"Mum did the best he could. He didn't even have to keep me. Could have adopted me out or- look, why is this even relevant?"

"Do you think you stopped because you didn't want to be like your father?"

"I'm nothing like him. I don't even know who the bastard was, but I know that if I had- if I'd done what he did I wouldn't have just fucked off without bothering to find out if I had a kid! Last I knew of you weren't a bloody therapist, so why are we even talking about this?"

Mycroft looked back to his desk, scanning another file.

"Alphas restraining themselves from mating has also been a symptom of them finding their True Mate. The need to care for the omega overrules the mating drive. I'm trying to determine if that's the case here."

He says it almost casually, but it feels as though the air is thicker. It's the first time anyone has directly said what everyone suspects. Greg swallows like he's got a lump in his throat and when he talks again it sounds strained. A soft purr fights its way out of you, instinct telling you to calm your Alpha.

"That does sound like what happened. When I went to kiss her it was like my head cleared just enough. I just couldn't, like I said it felt wrong. I wanted- I wanted to hold her. Bundle her up in my scent and- well you saw, I suppose."

Mycroft closes the file with a sigh before looking up at you. He purses his lips.

"Indeed I did. All the evidence points to yes. I believe this was not an ordinary suppressant failure. I believe you are True Mates."

Greg takes your hand again, grinning at you.

"My omega."

"Did you know," Mycroft says with a speculative look between you, "that before humans evolved into the social hierarchy we have today, when everyone was what we now consider betas, Alpha and Omega sometimes referred to the beginning and the end? I wonder..." He shakes himself and takes a deep breath. "Inspector, you have been an asset for me, and for my dear brother. I know of a laboratory facility which will treat you both with dignity."

"What?!" Sherlock squawks. "Unacceptable. I need access to Lestrade for the work. Arrange a cover up or something and let them go." He waves a hand vaguely at Mycroft as if to tell him to deal with the details himself.

"Sherlock, you know very well why I can't do that."

A short non-verbal argument seems to take place between the brothers. Sherlock hisses out a "fine!" and storms out of the room. Dr. Watson stands up and heads to the door.

"I'd better go after him. Make sure he's not stealing the silver, or trying to dissolve it with something from his pockets." He shakes his head, but there's a fond smile on his face.

Mycroft instructs Anthea to see you to the facility. You're back in the car before you know it. When Dr. Watson and Sherlock join you, you notice a blue dye on Sherlock's fingertips. You don't ask what he did to Mycroft's silver.


	4. Chapter 4

The lab is very much like a hospital. Mycroft was right, the staff do treat you well, but you still have the feeling like a bug under glass. They aren't shy about the fact that you and Greg are there to be studied. You and Greg were ushered into separate rooms when you arrived. You feel his loss keenly. You're in a hospital gown, and the smell of disinfectant stings your nose.

You've already had a gynecological exam. A beta you didn't know had pressed and felt your scent glands. It felt so wrong. Only your Alpha should touch you there. Greg should be the one to touch, bite, bond- You take a deep breath.

The door opens and your doctor comes in with a benign smile. She's a beta. You've only seen betas since you've been here, but you suppose that makes sense. Dr. Watson is not the norm. Doctors who treat Alphas and omegas are usually betas.

Dr. Abbington scans your chart, just double-checking before she turns a bright smile on you.

"So! Your tests all came back with good results, and now it's down to the tough stuff." She motions to the large mirror on the wall. "That's one of those mirrors which let you see who is on the other end. Don't worry," she puts in at your alarmed look, "Nobody was watching your exam. Nobody can see us now. But if I flick a switch and so does someone next door, you'll be able to see your Alpha, and he'll be able to see you. Would you like that?"

"We can't be in the same room?" She shakes her head with a sympathetic little smile.

"Sorry, no. We want to be sure you're fully out of heat before we put you in a room with him. An unsatisfied heat can sometimes, well, reignite... So to speak. You're to be separated for at least a week."

You sigh at the thought of being away from him that long. You no longer feel the need for his knot, but you want his scent, and his arms around you. Dr. Abbington makes a little 'aw' noise.

"I don't know what it's like to be an omega. But I know you must be frightened. I get that. Whisked off to a strange lab and kept away from the only person who's familiar. I'm sorry we can't have you in the same room, but you'll be able to see him, and talk to him through the intercom. His exam is over, would you like to see him now?"

"Yes, please."

Dr. Abbington moves a plush, oversized chair in front of the mirror to face it. She waves for you to stand, and holds your arm to help you over to sit. Your legs are wobbly. You feel shaky all over. The kind doctor slides a soft throw pillow between you and one arm of the chair. She folds a blanket over the back of the chair before wheeling over a side table. She makes sure you have a cup of water, plastic, and sets a small plate of crackers on the table.

"Anything else, love?"

You take a deep breath and look at yourself in the mirror. You try and smooth down your hair and smile wryly at your reflection. Dr. Abbington holds a finger up and says she'll be right back.

When she returns, she brings a small hairbrush. She manages to tame your hair. You smile at her, grateful. She shows you a pair of scrubs with a little 'ta-da!'. Your clothes carried too much of Greg's scent to be allowed. She says she'll come back when you're changed, but you are shaky enough to ask her to stay in case you need help. You nod to Dr. Abbington when you're changed and seated and she flips a switch turning the mirror into a window.

Greg has a chair like yours set up, but he's not in it. He's pacing in front of the window, tossing glares at someone just to one side, and alternating running his hands through his hair and tugging on the hem of his dark blue scrub shirt.

An involuntary whine escapes you at the sight of him. He's so agitated. All you want to do is calm him.

Dr. Abbington presses a button on what you assume is the intercom and tells them you're ready. The other side of the intercom clicks on and you can hear the low rumble of his growl. It changes tone when he sees you.

Greg stops right in front of you and puts one hand to the glass.

"Are you alright, Darling? They haven't hurt you?"

"No," you assure him, "they haven't hurt me. Dr. Abbington is nice. Did they hurt you?"

"No. My doc is okay. I've just been worried about you."

He steps back from the glass and takes a seat. There's a moment of awkward silence and you realize you know next to nothing about this man. He takes a sip of water and clears his throat.

"Could I get a cup of coffee, please?" He asks a small blond doctor you hadn't even noticed until now. The other man seemed to size Greg up.

"You seem calm enough now. Just don't freak out and try to get to her while I'm gone or we have to sedate you. Don't be a twat, right, Greg?"

You're surprised at the language coming from a doctor, but Dr. Abbington snorts as if she's used to it. Greg just smiles at the man.

"Got it, Doc."

"Would you like some coffee as well," Dr. Abbington asks you, "or some tea?"

"Tea, please."

"Okay. Oh! I should tell you that cameras were switched on after your exams. I wish we could give you more privacy, but given the unique nature of your situation, you're both to be under observation."

She leaves and you're back to sitting in awkward silence with Greg. After a moment he chuckles.

"Never thought I'd be here. The ex was a beta. Never been one for convention. I never thought I'd meet an omega who- well... Never thought I'd be divorced, either. It might have been doomed from the start, I don't know. Her parents certainly- Sorry. I probably shouldn't be talking about her, should I?”

You smile at his sheepish grin. He’s not the average Alpha. He seems slightly unsure of himself. He’s not preening or posturing. You don't know if it’s because of his experience as a copper, making himself less threatening, or if it has something to do with what Mycroft said about his mother.

“It’s fine. I want to know more about you, actually. I only really know what I've seen of you at press conferences.”

“You’ve watched those? I’m rubbish at them, but it comes with the job.”

“You’re not that bad! I mean, I chose-“ You cut off, not knowing how much you want to tell him. But this is your Alpha. You're confident he won’t judge you poorly. “I chose your team for my research because of what I’d seen of you.”

Greg is quiet for a minute. When you look up his expression is hard to read. You think he’s pleasantly surprised, but you're not sure.

“You did? You- You chose me? I- Us. You…” He takes a deep breath. “They didn’t tell us you had requested my team.”

“I did. Donovan impressed me with her professionalism, but you… You sat there with those big brown eyes and just- You radiated impatience, but it was- You wanted to get back to work and find the answers. You care.” And it might have just been that simple. Greg’s job wasn’t just a job. He cared.

“I do care. Every single one of them, I care. They're people. Their lives matter, and their deaths matter. Even if nobody is there to miss them, I’m there to remember them. And don’t tell Sally she’s professional. One, It’ll go to her head, and two, calling a consultant a freak is very much not professional.”

“Sherlock?”

“Sherlock.”

“He’s not a freak. He’s observant and intelligent. Yeah, he doesn’t have much tact, but that doesn’t make him a freak.”

“I know he’s not. He rubbed everyone up the wrong way when he first showed up on one of my crime scenes. He’s not solving them out of the goodness of his heart, but he's a good lad.”

You think back to Sherlock’s scent, unfamiliar, but family. You relax a little more at the memory. You’re practically slouching in the chair already, just from exposure to Greg. You shift a little and wrinkle your nose at the sound the chair makes, and the realization that Dr. Abbington must have snuck a slick pad under you.

Greg catches your discomfort, but his eyes betray him as excited.

“You okay?” He asks. You know that he knows by the sound of the plastic-backed slick pad that you might still be leaking. You are. Now that your attention has been brought to it, you realize you've been leaking steadily since Dr. Abbington let you see Greg. His eyes are fixed on you, and you feel a rush of emotion you don't even know how to process.

“I think so. I- I miss you. You’re right there, but I miss you.”

“What can I do?”

“Just talk to me.”

So he does.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is so short and late. I've been having trouble finding inspiration for the Sherlock fandom recently and this fic in particular. This chapter fought me every step of the way. I'm hoping with this chapter and some more backstory out of the way I can power through and get this fic done.

Greg talks about a lot of things. 

You learn that his beta ex-wife, Melanie, had a blue Mohawk when they met. Greg, playing guitar in a punk band at the time, had fallen for her when she called the singer, Tony, shit. She tossed a beer bottle at the stage, and asked Greg to buy her a drink after their set.

They'd ridden off on Greg's bike that night and were married six months later. Her parents never liked Greg. Betas almost always paired off with other betas. About a year after the wedding, Greg joined the police. Melanie didn't like that. She was still trying to live in the world where they had met. Cigarette smoke filled clubs and loud music. Eventually she calmed down, but she hated Greg's job.

Greg worked hard. He worked long hours, and he loved what he did. When his heightened senses started picking up the scents of other betas on her, he tried to ignore it.

He tells you he still plays his guitar when he has some spare time, which is rarely. His calluses have broken down enough to make his fingertips ache when he plays. There are several songs he can get through just by muscle memory, but he stumbles if he thinks too hard about what his fingers should be doing.

He isn't home enough to have a pet, but Dr. Watson had given him a desktop garden last Christmas, and he talks to the plants. You remember seeing it on a filing cabinet in his office. There had been half flowers and half salad greens under the light source.

Once a month, he plays football with a ragtag group of mismatched friends. Some are from the Academy, some from the pub, some friends of friends, and one woman Greg explains is the sister-in-law of a cousin of a guy who used to play with them but moved away about a year ago. He tells you about their goalkeepers, one a typical Alpha, and one a fierce omega. 

He's telling you about what had happened when the Alphas on the team had underestimated their small omega goalkeeper during her first game when Dr. Abbington knocks at your door and comes back in.

"Hey! Sorry to interrupt. Feeling better?"

"Yes. Much better. Are you sure we have to wait a week?" You try for a winning smile. The doctor laughs.

"Unfortunately, yes. Actually, I have some more bad news. We need to switch this window back to a mirror for another exam."

Greg gives a short growl. You grin at him, trying to reassure him.

"That's okay. It's just another twenty minutes or so, right? Then we can talk some more."

"That's what we're hoping," Dr. Abbington says with an unsure smile of her own, "but we've got orders from the boss. If you're still displaying symptoms we have to stop all contact."

"No." Greg orders. "Absolutely not."

"What do you mean no contact?"

The doctor sighs, and you hear Greg's doctor's feet shuffling over the intercom. You hadn't even realized he was in Greg's room. He steps into view and offers a sympathetic look at Dr. Abbington. He's the one who answers you.

"That would mean no visual or audio contact allowed. We would also be expected to cut out any potential for scent contamination, so no physical contact for me and my wife, either." Dr. Abbington looks at him adoringly, and you realize he's talking about her.

"Believe me," she says, "we're hoping that doesn't happen."

Your heart sinks. You know you're still leaking, and you can see Greg's pupils are still blown. This is the last you're going to see him for a week.

Greg is still letting out a low rumble and there is a scowl on his face. You don't like the thought of being completely cut off from him, but you know you need to calm him down and get him to agree. You've heard what they do to omegas and Alphas who don't cooperate with the doctors in places like this. Your doctors have been nice so far, but the person they're taking orders from could send in someone less pleasant if you or Greg put up a fight.

You stand on still-shaky legs and move to rest a hand on the window. Greg does the same. Your hands are together, but all you can feel is the glass. You fight to keep a brave face. You try to memorize the shape of his lips, the color of his eyes, the texture of his hair.

"Look, Greg, we want to find out what's going on, right? We'll need exams anyway. Let's just get it out of the way." The way he looks at you when he nods his agreement is so trusting it makes you feel guilty.

When you tell him you'll see him soon, you don't let it feel like a lie.


End file.
